


A Herald of Ink and Promises

by BenevolentErrancy



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Game, Trespasser DLC
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 06:18:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6842314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BenevolentErrancy/pseuds/BenevolentErrancy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lavellan takes the time to look out over what was once the Inquisition as it is slowly and systematically taken apart, at his command, and considers what this means for the future of the world, his own future, and the future he hopes to share with another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Herald of Ink and Promises

**Author's Note:**

> a fic request from my tumblr  
> -  
> edited because goodness it needed it

Lavellan stood on the balcony of his room, or of what had once been his room, and watched as the final caravan for the evening pulled out past the gate. It was quiet enough in Skyhold that even from as high up as he was Lavellan fancied he could hear the creaking of the wheels as the horses heaved it down the mountain path on its final trip from the mountain. The merchants had left months ago now that the Inquisition had no trade to offer, but other people trickled out slower, clinging to the last couple months of employment. There were cooks that agreed to stay to keep the workers fed as they dismantled forges and training fields and worked tirelessly to pack away what had once been the hub of so many people's world not that long ago. Lavellan himself still had much to do – there were final payments he had to look over and approve for those who would be leaving soon, decisions about what to do with the more expensive, artistic motifs that had been used to decorate the hold and which hadn't already been sold or, on occasion, gifted. What did a person do with giant Tevinter tile mosaics? Lavellan had never given it much thought as he had collected them originally, but there was no point in leaving such art in an abandoned keep and he himself had little interest in them as anything more than an oddity to slip in his pack while travelling. And besides for the technical work that still needed to be done by the Inquisitor, there were more personal matters too. He still needed to pack his own personal possessions. Somehow he had always managed to be a little too busy to remove his clothes from the drawers or wrap his armour for travel or even put out the necessary feelers to figure out where his clan was currently positioned so he could rejoin them. Instead he told himself _later, you can see to it later_ and stood on his balcony and simply watched the industry of people being paid to work towards a common goal.

It was funny. When the Inquisition had first been building itself up, piece by piece, person by person, he hasn’t really been able to appreciate it. In those early days it had been the tide of circumstance and obligation that had kept him there, not a passion for this resurrected, human organization. Rather than marvel at the assembling of forges or merchant booths or barracks at Haven, he had been much more focused on the threat that had surrounded him – and not just the hole in the sky he was apparently meant to fix either. Instead it had been the shems and flat-ears that had made him nervous, the press of their politics that didn’t give a damn about the elves and the weight of a religion that was dangerous for a Dalish elf to be caught in. He had felt caged and threatened by all this and had missed his clan like a hole in his chest. _Ha, or a limb_ _,_ he thought sardonically to himself, resisting the urge to scratch again at the emptiness at the end of his elbow.

It was remarkable how much things changed, he supposed. Now he missed those early days of frenzy and mystery; he missed the whir of people working to _build_ something rather than take it down. Now he was no longer just an elf caught up in something bigger than he was, but instead a man who looked out at an empty courtyard and a distant threat wondering how he could possibly ever return to his clan and leave all this be. Somehow, he wasn't just an anonymous Dalish warrior anymore, not just a civilian or a knife-ear, but a damn-near unrivalled political and physical force. When it came down to it, he wasn't even really sure if he _was_ Dalish anymore.

He ran a finger (from his non-dominant hand – even after all these months he still wasn't use to that, he still woke up swearing he could feel his fingers flexing one final time against Solas's...) along his vallaslin. He didn’t need to see it to know its pattern. When he’d received it he had put so much thought into the god he had wished to seek guidance from, into which of the pantheon he would praise and honour by taking their mark. It had been important, it had helped him live his life and become who he was today. He had left offerings, burned candles, said prayers – he had diligently upheld the rituals of the Dalish. And now after what happened at the Winter Palace, in the Eluvians… _Creators_. Ancient slavers. Could it honestly be true? No wonder Solas had been such a smug ass about it – had Lavellan truly worn the mark of a slave and called it a freedom?

And yet maybe things hadn't changed as much as it might appear because he found he couldn't regret his life, or the virtues he'd learned to live by, or the customs of the Dalish and their way of life. No matter what had happened in the past, the Dalish were not simply the past, but a living, growing present. That's what Solas didn't understand – in a way, it was what he himself hadn't understood when he'd first met Solas and Sera and had been unable to understand how they could possibly consider themselves elves if they painted themselves with human culture. But that was the thing, wasn't it? Culture changed. And trying to remember the past didn't stop that.

So while having the foundation of both his faith and his body – his very identity – so horribly shaken was debilitating, it wasn't the only change that left him shaken. Watching the hold – _his_ hold – empty made him realize how much the Inquisition too had become a part of who he was. When he should have been marveling at the power of the Inquisition in the early days he had been too focused on himself and what he had lost and what was expected of him. Now that he should be thinking about himself, about what he could possibly do now after everything that had happened, he... well. All he could do was stand on his balcony and watch as his people slowly pulled down the tents, piled up the supplies, packed away the armour and moved out, moved on. As it turned out, a force like the Inquisition didn’t go out with a bang nor did it end with dramatic statements in Val Royeaux; instead it faded in splurts and splutters, like a guttering candle.

“Infested, festering, breaking from within and no way to control, no way to protect people from yourself with the power spilling over, it must be _removed_. But now it's empty, missing, how can you protect people if you can't reach out to them, how can you live without a part of yourself?”

“Dagna's been looking into making me something to replace it,” Lavellan said without turning around, tapping at the place where his sleeve folded up over his elbow, hiding what had been.

“Yes,” Cole agreed. “I don’t… really understand it, it involves a _lot_ of bits and pieces in her mind, but she’s very excited about it. But I didn’t mean your arm.”

“Yeah,” said Lavellan, resigned, “I know.”

Lavellan hadn't heard Cole approach, but he knew by now he would be standing just behind him and so Lavellan leaned back just enough to have his back pressed against Cole's chest.

“You're afraid that without stone walls to hold everyone together that you'll lose them all,” Cole said.

Lavellan grunted wordlessly, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against Cole's shoulder. Some day he might just get used to being with someone who could effortlessly root out his most intimate feelings. Maybe. It wouldn't be today though. Cole stepped forward against Lavellan though, letting his arms loop around Lavellan's chest and resting his head against his hair and Lavellan felt himself melt. Sometimes it could be hard to decipher what Cole did for himself and what he did only because he knew other people wanted it, but right now Lavellan certainly needed a hug and found he couldn't even bring himself to care...

Of course on the other hand Cole also seemed to have enthusiastically taken to cuddling as a whole, and was, in his own way, delightfully selfish about it. Lavellan wasn't necessarily a very cuddly person, not in excess, but Cole seemed to thrive off of gentle, physical contact as soon as he discovered that it was an option and Lavellan couldn't dream of denying him of it. Some days Lavellan could hardly get out of bed without accidentally dragging Cole out with him because the spirit had attached himself to Lavellan's person.

Whatever Cole's reason for this particular hug though, it was... nice. A relief. It made him feel a little less like he was about to fall into the gaping emptiness of the courtyard, of the Inquisition, of his future.

When Lavellan opened his eyes, Cole's hat was drooping over both of them, blocking out the scarred sky – the same sky that Solas was also standing under somewhere – as well as the furthest view of the hold; his vision was effectively narrowed to the two of them and a thin band of balcony and mountain.

“They wouldn't leave,” said Cole softly in his ear. “Even if they aren't with you, they wouldn't leave you. _I_ won't leave.”

“Mm. And that's not just metaphoric leaving you're talking about, I hope,” he said, making an attempt at humour. “You'll actually stay with me too?” The desperation cracking into his voice probably made it fall a little flat though.

“Yes! At least I hope too. If you'll let me stay, I will stay, I _want_ to stay. I want to be with you.”

With a surge Lavellan turned and wrapped his arms around Cole's neck, tugging him just low enough that he could press his lips to Cole's. Kissing might have been awkward when they first tried it if it hadn't been so unintentionally funny. Cole had immediately understood that it was a thing done between people who loved one another – be it as friends, family, or lovers – and that it was meant to feel, in his words, “soft and warm... or, no, hot and sharp? Or slow or... fast and teasing? Or appeasing and – like a book full of words that all say the same thing, like trying to wrap someone in silk to keep them safe and instead holding them between lips and hands”. It was the mechanics that had remained elusive until after some extended periods of rather enthusiastic practice. Now though... now Cole was quite possibly the best kisser in Thedas, in Lavellan's humble and not remotely biased opinion. It was like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, to feel feel one of Cole's long, strong arms curve around his back, while his other hand brushed through his hair and against the back of his ear. Lavellan kept his severed arm tucked close against Cole's side, while he used his hand to cup Cole's cheek and appreciate the warmth that radiated from it, the shift of muscles as Cole moved his mouth against his, the tickle of hair against the back of it. For a moment Lavellan considered ignoring everything and losing himself to this, to Cole. Let the future be something to fret about another day, surely he deserved an evening with agreeable company and no need in the slightest to think.

Lavellan sighed and pulled back slightly though. Maybe that was another thing that had changed. He wasn't anywhere near the impulsive, young man who could barely stand to be in Haven for more than a minute necessary, who kept throwing himself at missions and quests because maybe then he could pretend he wasn't being caged in by walls and shems and obligations.

“What happens next, Cole?” Lavellan asked softly. “Before we always had another job to do, and now it's all just... over.”

“We help people,” said Cole, like it was the simplest thing in the world. And perhaps it was. That was, after all, what they had been doing up until now – it was what defined Cole, what made him happy, and it was a path Lavellan would happily follow him down. Still though...

“We could do anything,” Lavellan pointed out, and though he had pulled back he kept Cole's hands in his, and gave them a warm squeeze at that possibility. Encouraging him to consider it. “No more responsibilities forcing us to go riding off at dawn to the other side of Thedas, no nobles forcing us to sit in meetings. We could retire. We could go back to my clan. Or we could spends three months sitting around an Antivan beach. I still have more than enough money to last me.”

Gone were the days of desperately scraping up any handful of coins or a battered lover's knots or a lost child's toy from a corpse. While most of their profits had always filtered directly into the Inquisition's coffers, and that wealth had been distributed appropriately after it had been disbanded, Lavellan had been receiving a stipend as Inquisitor ever since they'd reached Skyhold and found themselves in less dire financial straits, and he had also kept any personal valuables that he'd rooted up on their travels tucked safely away, like a squirrel preparing for a harsh winter. Mostly he had hoarded them awaiting the day he would have to run again and by the time he had started to think he wouldn't be running, that these people were _his_ people and wouldn't run him off like a Dalish vagabond it was a simply habit he couldn't be bothered to break. If he and Cole decided they wanted to move to a farmstead in the Anderfels they could, and never need to work a day in their lives.

“Or we could go out and find those old friends of yours from the Spire. You never did speak with them while they were working for the Inquisition.”

Cole shifted uncomfortably at that, and it didn't really surprise Lavellan. In long, dark moments when they were both lying in bed together – since Lavellan struggled against his mind to sleep some nights and Cole still only seemed to need catnaps – sometimes they would tell each other stories of things they had done or seen. He had heard about the time Cole had spent with Rhys and Evangeline, and knew how important they were to him, but he also knew that something had happened that made Cole certain that they would hate him if they ever saw him again. It had made it seriously tempting to abuse Inquisition resources to track them down and make them tell him what they could possibly have against the sweetest, kindest, least selfish person in the entire damn world.

Lavellan changed tracks: “Or we go to Kirkwall and visit Varric. Check out this house I apparently have there now. Meet that other friend of his – what was her name, you know, the captain of the guard?”

“That would be nice,” Cole agreed. “I missed Varric when he left. It hurts him to be back in Kirkwall and see the things that don't exist anymore because of the actions of a friend that Varric wishes he could properly stop thinking of as a friend. He wanted to never be his parents but he's afraid he is, trapped in a dead world that doesn't want him anymore, but he isn't. He's creating and building and making a future on an old foundation isn't the same as being stuck int he dark. He forgets though; it would be good to remind him. He would like to see us. When there are friends, then being Viscount can become a joke, and the job isn't as important or terrifying anymore.”

Lavellan nodded absently, walking away from Cole entirely now to stand back against the edge of the balcony. The yard was completely empty at this point, still and silent. They could do that, go visit Varric. He could enjoy not always being the one to fix what he hadn't even broken to start with and not get yelled at the entire time either. Cole would definitely find work to do there helping people who were still trying to rebuild a life in the wake of a war, and it might be nice to see the Free Marches again – it felt like too long since Lavellan had been there. They could...

“What would you _like_ to do though, Cole,” he asked. “Not what other people need or want, but what do _you_ want?” Because he needed to know.

“I...” Cole hesitated. Wanting something personally, for no reason other than it was something he wanted, was still a rather foreign concept to him. He had preference – and been developing more and more of them lately as he became more human and his body started having more demands of its own, but the actual act of acknowledging them still seemed to stop him up like a pebble in your shoe. Something odd and out of place and barely noticeable until it got stuck under your heel. “I would like to find Solas,” he admitted eventually. “He's my friend and... and he needs to be stopped. I won't let him hurt the world, or himself.”

It was a relief to hear that – a relief that he wasn't the only one that felt the pull of the last three years worth of exhaustion pulling on him and knew he had no choice but to race forward despite it. Lavellan had considered retirement, he really had. He had considered going home – he _had_. Until he had realized that the home he was thinking of returning to didn't include soldiers training at dawn under Cullen's eye, or the smell of lyrium and Fade lingering everywhere the mages scurried, or the warmth of Josephine's office, or chatting with Cassandra, or sitting with the Chargers in the tavern, and it didn't include Cole, not really. What were the odds that Keeper Deshanna, never mind the others, would accept a spirit into their clan? Especially a spirit in the shape of a shem? No, that was just one more change that had come about at a point Lavellan couldn't even identify. At some point, the definition of home had changed. Whatever exactly it was now, it wouldn't be complete without Cole at his side.

“That's good,” Lavellan said, “because I just received this.”

He slid a small slip of paper, folded and refolded many times since the crow had dropped it off this morning, towards Cole who picked it up and carefully opened it in his long pale fingers.

_We are ready.  
Awaiting orders._

That was all that was written on it, in an unrecognizable hand which meant that Lavellan knew immediately who it was from. Cole obvious did too, because he ran a finger along it, murmuring under his breath that it was written with the memory of honey and wine.

What pleased Lavellan even more were the four careful marks made under the words. If you didn't know what you were looking for, it might simply resemble ink smudges, or a child's scratches. If you _were_ looking them though that swoop might resembled a crow, that blotch a fist, the squiggle could a key, and the arch and dot just so happened to resemble an eye. So all four of them had reconvened. All four of them had again decided to put their lives on hold, this time for the shadow of a great organization, one they had helped build and that Lavellan had personally torn down.

“Leliana and I were discussing it before she left with the others, quite a while ago” Lavellan said. “She was going to seek out some of the Inner Circle, _quietly_ , and see who else also felt that there was work to be done. And if there was anyone... well. Then they'd be waiting for us – for me – at Haven. And you, so long as you wanted to.”

“Not lost, not missing, but whole and filled and seeking. Blood pumping, not anger anymore but anticipation, a promise.” Cole grinned at him. “You're excited.”

Lavellan couldn't help but grin back. The Inquisition was done, it had to be, he refused to be a political pawn to kings and empresses and spies. But the Inquisitor was not. And nor were his people.

“We can be packed, saddled, and ready to leave by tomorrow, if you want,” he said.

“Yes,” said Cole, a little breathlessly, looking just as eager to return to work that didn't involve filing papers and watching people leave.

Lavellan clapped Cole's shoulder, before turning and returning to his room. That little paper was a harbinger, of sorts. A herald, if you liked. It brought him, _them_ , a future. Now he could unpack his drawers, because it wasn't unpacking, not really. It was simply _packing_ , this time for the next challenge, the next need to be met. It was packing for a journey, first back to Haven – where it had all began, a place just as broken and forgotten as the Inquisition itself now was, where they could plan – and after that, to Solas, wherever he was now, wherever he thought he could hide.

-

Cole followed in behind Lavellan just a step later, pausing only long enough to consider the little piece of paper and all the weight behind it. Carefully, he folded it back up and slipped it under the band of his hat – he couldn't quite explain it, but for the moment it felt like an important promise to keep. One of tomorrow, of the future. Futures weren't something spirits tended to consider much; they had limited memories and lived in the moment, in emotions. Now though, Cole was excited about this future, and the fact it was one made to be walked by two.

Once the note was safely stowed though, he rejoined Lavellan so that their twin excitements could join and give them the fuel to work through the night and be ready to leave with the dawn, to follow the words on a page to old friends and whatever new came to face them.

 


End file.
